


Strays in the House

by Sealie



Series: 'Uhane [8]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 05:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6362173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We are creatures of habit and it is important to be aware of that fact.  ['uhane series]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strays in the House

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: slash, PG  
> Warning: threat to animals.  
> Comments: British English spelling  
> Spoilers: none  
> Notes: Sentinel AU fusion with a different socio-political universe to canon –‘Uhane verse.  
> Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.  
> Beta: Springwoof is the most awesome beta to awesome. Thank you. 
> 
> We are creatures of habit and it is important to be aware of that fact.
> 
> I saw this on tumblr, and it really made me think of Steve and his kittens, especialy the illustration in the top right hand corner. It's adorable.
> 
> http://vegarided.tumblr.com/post/153382580991/

**Strays in the House.**  
By sealie

**Part one**

‘Guide Steve is about to fuck up some shit,’ the mock-radio announcer in Danny’s imagination intoned as he chased after his guide. 

Sand Island had been a plague camp back in the annals of history. During the second decade of World War Two, the isolated island had been an internment camp for prisoners of war. The skin on the back of Danny’s neck crawled. Steve lolloped ahead, long limbs effortlessly striding through the sparse, weedy shrubs that covered the top level of the island’s water reclamation infrastructure. 

Their suspect had bolted to Sand Island and that fact didn’t make any sense; it was an island -- one way on and one way off. The rickety bridge had creaked and groaned as they had sprinted across the boards focused on their prey. 

Officer Pua Kai had been shot in a mom and pop store on Tahni Boulevard. He had managed to call for back-up, but the suspect was long gone by the time HPD had arrived. The proprietor, Mrs. Ford, had identified one Huik Jones as the shooter. There was blood on their suspect’s hands and feet, blood that Danny had tracked through the very air itself. 

The spoor of fear tasted like metal on his tongue. 

They ran, feet pummelling on the sidewalk. A sniff and a hint of fear-riven pheromones tainting the air provided Danny with a direction. At a crossroad, Steve paused a breath, face pinched, and his patrician’s nose twitched like a rat’s. They ran straight ahead. Blood, a mere drop, pointed Danny south. Once they hit the narrow bridge leading to Sand Island there had been only one direction. 

The pulse of Danny’s own heart matched Steve’s heartbeat. The thrum of blood through their veins was coursing like a river. Steve raced ahead toward a village of low tents on the edge of the water reclamation terminal. The swoop and saw of individual tents merged into a sea of green, grey and amber in the fading light of dusk. Danny knew that Steve was pissed; Pua was a good kid, naïve and inexperienced, but learning every day. Danny hoped that Pua was going to mature into a good man. He had only been winged and the paramedics on the scene had announced that he was going to be okay. But that wasn’t the point. 

Someone that Danny actually liked had been hurt. A fellow cop. A kid. 

“Steve!” Danny abruptly tangented off their line, heading towards the old docks. Jones’ spoor went toward cover. 

Steve bared his teeth in a frankly evil grin, reversed course and chased after Danny. 

Danny was a sprinter. Steve was a long distance runner. Danny refused to feel competitive as Steve ran towards him, long legs eating up the distance. The sun setting in the west turned the dull grey buildings orange and drew long shadows across the pockmarked tarmac. Back in the day, there had been port infrastructure associated with the internment camp. Now there was old dilapidated docks and decaying buildings that provided sanitation and other facilities for those living in the tent village.

He could hear people within the offices and warehouses. A candle flickered by an upstairs window. Figures scurried in the wainscoting. 

“Hey!” Danny could see clearly. He could see clearly in the most meagre light imaginable. Dusk on a derelict dock posed no problem.

A grimy guy, skeletally tall, stood on the edge of the dock, a grubby burlap bag clasped in his outstretched hand. 

The man started at Danny’s shout and dropped the sack. 

Steve accelerated past Danny as if an arrow shot from a crossbow. 

“No!” Danny screamed; they didn’t know how deep the water was, or if there were hazards below the surface. 

Steve arched off the dock in a perfect dive. 

“Idiot!” Danny barrelled into the raggedy-looking guy, slamming him to the ground. His skin crawled; the man stunk to high heaven.

“I didn’t do nothing,” he screamed, as Danny flipped him onto his stomach and handcuffed his hands together. 

“Steve!” Dismissing the homeless guy, Danny scurried to the edge of the pier. Frantically, he peered into the water. “Steve?” 

The light was all wrong -- shining across the water rather than from above -- making it difficult to penetrate the depths. 

“Damn it all to Hell.” Danny kicked off his loafers and shrugged out of his tactical vest, tossing it to the ground

As he curled his toes over the edge to dive, Steve erupted from the water as if thrust from below. 

“Danny!” He held the bag high. “Danny.” 

The doofus powered through the water keeping the bag clear of the surface. Danny refused to be impressed. 

“Idiot,” Danny berated, even as he lay on his stomach to grab the bag that Steve had almost killed himself to save. He lifted the bag free of the water, already knowing what forlorn offering he would find within. Rolling off his stomach and into a crouch, Danny unravelled the twine holding the bag shut. 

“That’s not Jones.” Steve bench pressed himself out of the water in a motion that, even when focussed on matters to hand, momentarily made Danny drool. 

“I know.” Danny sighed at the three tiny, still forms curled up in the folds of the bag.

Steve was shaking himself like a dog, water spiralling off his skin. He glanced at Danny, brow furrowing.

“Danny, you okay?” 

“Nah, not really.”

“What?” Steve made an automatic step closer, and his expression abruptly segued into horrified. “Are they--”

The white bedraggled kitten let out a tiny mewl that only a sentinel could hear. Danny scooped it up. The little girl weighed only a feather. Danny patted her back. A bubble of water dribbled out of her nose. 

“Danny?” Crouching, Steve hovered over the other two impossibly small -- black and grey -- forms, fingers plucking at the air, indecisively. “Danny! Which one has the best chance?” 

Danny glanced and made a decision in a heartbeat. “Grey.” 

“Damn it all to hell,” Steve grabbed the kitten, tipping it up, mirroring Danny’s movement. 

The pain in his eyes cut Danny like a razor. He was already devastated by the probable death of a kitten that he had barely met. Danny made a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. He tucked the white kitten against his ribs under his shirt and hoped for the best. 

“Give it to me. Help the black one.” 

Steve thrust the grey into Danny’s hands. Danny was just following his gut, and he hoped that kittens could dry-drown like people in water rather than wet-drown. The white kitten had only snotted out a droplet of water. He tipped the little boy up, and following an internal prompt, patted him on his back. The white kitten against his ribs shivered infinitesimally. 

Shit, shit, Danny kept up an internal litany as he gently palpitated the kitten’s side, hoping and hoping that he would breathe. In-between one hope and the next, the grey kitten twitched 

“Steve!” And he froze, because Steve was gently breathing -- a little puff -- lips pursed against the black kitten’s nose. 

Steve was giving the kiss of life to a kitten. Stretched out on his palm, the black ball of fluff barely took up a quarter of the space. Danny could see the kitten’s ribs move fractionally. Come on, he prayed, because Steve was already invested. Steve froze and Danny could almost feel him counting under his breath. Lips to nose, Steve breathed again. The little kitten in Danny’s hand stretched out a paw, and Danny could barely feel the velvet pads on its fingernail sized paw -- its weight so light. 

“Babe,” Danny began, because he didn’t think that there was any chance. 

“ **Live** ,” Steve growled, and Danny locked his knees against the weight of the empathic intent. 

_Holy cow_ , Danny almost expected the dead to rise. His heart was thudding against his chest as if he had ran a hundred miles. An adrenalin spike shivered up and down his spine. 

“Danny!” Steve smiled and it was glorious. “Moku breathed.” 

Steve had already named the damn thing. Danny groaned inwardly. 

“Williams. Danny!” Sgt. Lukela came running up to them, as fast as he could for a guy who was getting on in years. “Are you okay?” 

“We haven’t found Jones.” Danny stood conscious of the weight against his ribs and cupped in his hands. “Book this stain--” he toed the guy at his feet, “--for animal cruelty and everything that you can think of.”

“Animal cruelty?” Lukela checked. “Commander?” 

Steve blinked, and switched back to reality. 

“Where’s Jones, Danny?” 

Danny paused, finding a moment’s stillness to catalogue the area. Steve’s distress -- temperature rising and heartbeat racing -- beat against his senses, the kitten curled under his ribs was shivering, and the rasp of the grey’s tiny, soft footpads suddenly felt like sandpaper. Distracting was one word for the interruptions. The cadre of cops running towards them sounded like a herd of buffalo. 

“He’s holed up in the supervisor’s office with the red door,” Danny said. He could clearly see the sign on the door three hundred yards away.

“Okay.” Steve still didn’t move, trapped by the half ounce weight in his hands. 

“Right,” Danny made a decision. He nodded at Lukela. “Duke, take those guys coming up and corral Jones. His heart’s beating like a trip hammer; the run’s almost killed him. Don’t forget the animal abuser. Me and Steve have some kittens to take to the University’s animal hospital.” 

“What?” Steve asked. 

“Come on.” Danny grabbed the strap on the back of Steve’s vest and hauled him away from the edge of the dock, because really Steve would be neither use nor ornament until the kittens were okay. He wasn’t letting his guide go after an armed suspect when he was distracted. Weirdly, Steve was not compartmentalising, and he had just sent out a pulse of empathic power that could have possibly started the Zombie Apocalypse. “We have to get you dry before you catch pneumonia.” 

             ~*~

“Okay, these three little guys are just about two weeks old; their eyes are about to open.” Dr. Gayle stared up at both of them. The kittens were tucked in a plastic box, dried, rehydrated, de-fleaed (Danny was having a shower as soon as he got home), injected with antibiotics, and wrapped up warmly on a heating pad, all accompanied by a hefty fee on Danny’s credit card. 

“What’re their chances, Doc?” Steve asked, hands clasped behind his back. 

“They’re going to need round-the-clock care?” Gayle cocked a carefully plucked eyebrow. 

“Yes? Of course.” Steve shrugged a _why are you even asking the question_ sort of shrug. 

Danny sighed, apparently they were fostering homeless kittens. Why was he even surprised? 

“Do you have any nursing moms that we can borrow for a couple of weeks?” Danny asked. 

Steve looked impressed. 

“Not off the top of my head, no,” Gayle said. “We normally deal with more specialised cases from conservation rescue, the Honolulu Sanctuary Wildlife Refuge… but I’ll ask around.” 

“But what do we need to do?” Steve said intently. 

“You’re actually lucky that they’re a couple of weeks old, but given that they’re a little malnourished and clearly stressed, I’m guessing that their mom was a first time mom and was inexperienced. We’ve got formula and bottles for you, my nurse will show you how to feed them. You’re going to have to feed them 55-60cc each of formula a day, given the fact that they’re underweight, space the feedings every two to two and a half hours as if they were newborns. If they tolerate that volume of food and are crying and nuzzling try 70cc--” 

Danny hauled his hardly-ever-used notebook out and began to take notes. 

             ~*~

The instructions were clear. Dr. Gayle had been as precise as a bomb technician. However, the kittens were amazingly small. Mary had had hamsters as small as Moku. Steve had his equipment laid out in a line: tiny bottles; syringes; substitute mother’s milk from the veterinary hospital; antibiotics; thermometer; q-tips; Kleenex; paper towels, and notebook to record their weight over time. Steve interlaced his fingers, stretched his hands out, and cracked his knuckles. The milk was at the right temperature; he had tested it on his wrist. He planned on feeding Moku first. Not that he was playing favourites, Moku was the smallest; he needed feeding. 

The tiny kitten meeped; he couldn’t even mew properly. He rolled fruitlessly around the box, eyes half closed and ears curled over. 

“Hi, Moku,” Steve soothed, scooping up the kitten. Keening distress, Moku rooted futilely against the swell of Steve’s thumb, searching for his mother and food. “I dunno what happened to her. Sorry.” 

Gayle had recommended using the syringe when feeding Moku for the first couple of days. The syringe held a mere two cc of antibiotic enriched milk. Moku cried. 

“Hey. Hey. Hey. It’s okay, It’s okay,” Steve crooned. Snuffling, Moku latched onto the tip of the syringe. “Whoa.” 

Curled over his own hand, Steve slowly depressed the syringe plunger. He held his breath. Success! Slow and steady was the rule, as Moku successfully fed. Steve could have cheered but that would have been loud and upset the kittens. 

“Winning?” Danny wandered down the stairs scratching his butt through his thin shorts. “I can’t believe that their first feeding is at two thirty in the morning. Geez.” 

“Wash your hands.” 

“Wash your hands,” Danny echoed sarcastically, but he ambled to the kitchen. 

Moku kind of thrummed. It wasn’t a purr but the satisfaction was visceral. 

“Good boy,” Steve encouraged. 

Danny wandered back. “I’ll feed the white one.”

Hilariously, Steve was supposed to burp the kitten. Moku was far too small to put over his shoulder. He cradled the kitten on his palm and patted his back. He let out the tiniest sound, a possible burp. 

“Did he, Danny?” Steve checked. 

“Burp?” Danny yawned, as he presented a tiny bottle to an equally tiny white kitten. “Yep. Good one.” 

Moku yawned, tongue curling -- tiny ripples of satisfaction warmed Steve. He toppled over in the cradle of Steve’s palm and promptly fell asleep. 

Life was hard when you were a kitten. 

             ~*~

“So this is the great outdoors," Steve told the purrito—a warmly-wrapped Moku. ''The Power of Google tells me that I have to train you. It is early days, but your first outdoor experience was very traumatic. You really don't want to become an indoor cat. Where's the adventure?"

Danny grinned into his mug of coffee as Steve talked to Moku down on the beach. Hilarious and cute. The night before, he had told Danny quite seriously that kittens needed to be taught how to hunt, and did Danny have any idea where they could trap mice in the vicinity of the house. 

Steve was designing little training regimes in his head.

Finishing his coffee, Danny figured he had time to wash the dishes before he had to head out and pickup Grace to take her to tennis.

"Good Morning, Steve," Sebastian, their next door neighbour, spoke clearly.

Danny bobbed up on his toes to better see through the kitchen window. Sebastian stood over Steve as he sat dabbling his feet into the tickling surf. Clearly having finished his morning constitutional, Sebastian wore a wide-brimmed hat to protect his mainland pallor. Steve glanced at the hat and then the sun just dancing over the horizon, and huffed.

''Who is your new friend?" Sebastian asked

"Moku," Steve said monosyllabically. 

Steve hadn’t had any time for Sebastian since day one. The man had accidently crept up on Steve and woken him out of a sound sleep on the hammock. Steve stiffened every time Sebastian came close. It was funny -- Sentinels were the ones that were supposed to be short-tempered and territorial. Entertainingly, Sebastian seemed to like baiting Steve; he kept coming back for more.

"Should he be away from his mom?"

Steve bristled at the, perceived, slight against his actions.

''He was abandoned. Danny and I are getting him up to strength.” 

''That's good of you. Hard work?"

Seb had no idea, Danny thought as he rinsed a plate. Looking after newborn Grace was comparable, albeit Danny wasn't scared about dropping the kittens and breaking them.

**oo000oo**

**Part two**

The rescued kittens ruled the roost. Or, more accurately, their schedule ruled everything. Three of them meant that feeding was pretty much constant and making kittens poop was Danny’s favourite thing in the universe. George had to be stopped twenty times a day from loving the kittens to death. The doc had judged that they were two weeks old from slightly opened eyes, but they were pretty much behind on their predicted development and their lives revolved around eating, pooping and sleeping. Velvet, their border collie, was still withholding judgement. 

So, between George being a step away from re-enacting the Loony Tunes ‘I will kiss him and _love_ him and _squeeze_ him’ Abominable Snowman sketch, Vel licking her lips in consideration, and Steve, their dedicated slave, jumping around like a mommy cat on a hot tin roof -- Danny just wanted ten minutes without the kittens crying. 

They had a battery-operated heating pad so they could take the kittens to work in their box. Steve had co-opted an intern to be the kittens’ slave when they had to go out and do their day-to-day jobs. 

“They are pretty cute,” Kono said. The kittens had started to explore the confines of their box on stumbling legs. “So are you keeping them?”

“No,” Danny said automatically, “I’m deathly allergic to cats.” 

“Really.” Kono raised an eyebrow. 

Danny coughed, piteously. 

“You don’t _seem_ allergic to cats, which I thought was weird. I figured that sentinels were always allergic?” 

“Nah,” Danny admitted, because it was basically obvious that he wasn’t allergic. He couldn’t pretend to have a dripping nose, although he did know that a hot face cloth induced flush and a hint of a wheeze was really easy to manufacture. It was probably a good thing that his mom was also a sentinel. “Some sentinels are, like the rest of humanity. We always had cats and dogs around the house, mostly dogs.”

“So are you keeping them?” Kono asked again. 

“Why? Are you interested?” Danny smiled winningly. Cats were evil. Pratchett had it right; if you shaved them everyone would know that they were evil. Their cute fur -- which he knew would shed -- wouldn’t win them any points with the Sentinel of Hawaii. He was wise. 

“Really, Brah?” Kono snorted. “Steve won’t let me have one.” 

“Hey, he thinks that he’s the Benevolent Dictator of Casa McGarrett but we both live there. I’m a dog person, not a cat person.” 

Moku sat up in his pile of tissues and blinked at the brand new world that he was just figuring out how to see. 

“Has he named them?” Kono cooed. “They are so cute.” 

“Just Moku.” Danny pointed at the fluff. The other two were currently Whitey and Grey, hardly original. He was surprised that Moku wasn’t called Blackie. “You think that they’re cute now, but when they’re covered in sh--”

“Danny.” Steve came striding out of his office. “The governor’s aide called, we’re wanted.” 

“What for?” Danny didn’t move a muscle. Despite the striding -- Steve always strode with intent -- there wasn’t a _this is important_ vibe. 

“His aide didn’t say. I figure we can go to Beeley’s for food on the way back.” What Steve didn’t say was that they were kind of on best behaviour, proving that they were the Sentinel and Guide of Hawaii and that shipping them off to the Mainland was not a good idea. ‘Kind of’ because Steve’s patience only lasted so long, and Danny was naturally sarcastic, but they were choosing their battles in the effort to win the War. 

             ~*~

Denning had just been flexing his muscles. Parading the Sentinel of Hawaii to the masses to underscore that the Islands of Hawaii had a resident Sentinel and therefore the islands were a good place to live and work. Politics made Danny’s teeth ache. However, this was a good tick on Steve’s checkboard of reasons why Sentinel Central couldn’t forcibly remove them. 

Still, Danny had a headache and wanted a vat of coffee and a malasada. He deserved it. 

He strutted across the foyer towards the exit, planning on slamming through the double doors, on a direct line for the Hede’s Legendary Bakery opposite the government buildings. 

Of course, his guide wasn’t dogging his heels. 

Danny stopped. Steve was at the far end of the foyer staring absently at the vaulted ceiling. 

“Yo, Babe? What’s the hold up? Food.” 

“I was just thinking about something.” 

“Yeah, what?” 

“Food?” Steve non-answered. “Beeley’s?” 

“Malasadas: Hede’s,” Danny countered. 

“You’ve had malasadas once this week, Grace will know. Deep fried dough balls only once a week.” 

Danny sulked. 

             ~*~

Beeley’s Organic Juice and Foodbar was one of Steve’s favourite eating places. Good food, good people, good ambience. Beeley, through hard work, love, and care, created a space that soothed Steve and didn’t irritate Danny in the slightest. 

Beeley was setting a top-heavy crate by the door. Steve forced himself not to help and take over, knowing that Beeley wouldn’t appreciate a hand. 

“Hey, Commander.” Beeley grinned up at him through his groomed beard.

Steve bent over and offered Beeley a fist bump. 

“What’s with the box?” 

“Food bank will be picking it up in the next ten minutes.” Beeley pushed the box against the shop front, out of pedestrians’ way, with his foot. 

“Cool,” Danny said.

They followed the proprietor into the airy café 

“Sit in or takeout?” Beeley asked. The café was busy, but there were a couple of tables free under the bushy indoor Bamboo Palm. 

Steve glanced at Danny. “Takeout,” he decided. They had kittens to check, and they could take food for Chin and Kono. 

“I’ve got a cashew, vanilla pod, and cherry cheesecake for dessert.”

Steve snorted; Beeley knew his customers. 

“Sounds like a plan.” Danny moseyed over to peruse the chiller cabinet on the far wall filled with prepared salads, sandwiches, mains, and juices. 

“Get the quinoa sushi with tofu for Chin,” Steve directed as he scrutinised the blackboard above the serving counter. 

Beeley wandered around the counter and onto his serving platform. 

“Decisions, decisions,” Danny mocked. He had already picked out the sushi box for Chin and selected an organic chorizo, roasted peppers, and mozzarella wholemeal sub for himself. 

“Raw Pad Thai with peanuts and tamarind dressing,” Steve decided. “Kono will have Butternut squash laksa with flat rice noodles.”

“Spicy,” Danny noted. 

“Kono will find it mild.” Beeley laughed. 

“I need one of your Americanos,” Danny declaimed. 

“Double-shot of espresso? Silly question.” Beeley set to work.

The bell at the door chimed, and they both turned to check the new arrival. A young woman with the grass-green tabard was collecting up the crate. An empty one had been left in its place. 

“Mahalo, Beeley,” she carolled, and continued on her way. She had pushed the door to alert Beeley of her pick up.

“I didn’t know that Honolulu had a food bank?” Danny sort-of questioned. 

“Kind of necessary after the tsunami,” Beeley said absently, focused on preparing Danny’s coffee. 

Steve looked unerringly in the direction of Sand Island and sucked on his bottom lip. He and Danny both sat on a number of governmental state wide meetings, representing both 5O and Sentinel Affairs (so to speak). In the raft of boring meetings, there was one series that did prove useful, the quarterly Public Service meetings. All services attended: Fire & Rescue; Police; Emergency Services; Medical Support; Social Services, and the Environmental Department -- they were noisy meetings. The aftermath of the tsunami had been the catalyst. Homelessness was one topic amongst many, but it felt more real today. 

“We have to do something,” he said. 

“Do what?” Danny mumbled around the slice of chorizo he had fished out of his lunch. 

             ~*~

Danny munched on his sub. Steve sat on the floor, long legs crossed, under the big windows overlooking the Aliʻiōlani Hale’s statue of King Kamehameha the Great. He had corralled the kittens in the space between his legs. One-handed, he deftly ate his Pad Thai as he played with the kittens. On uncertain paws they stumbled around the vast valley made by Steve’s giraffe legs. 

Steve and cats; who knew. 

“So what are you thinking?” Danny asked from his comfortable seat on the couch. 

“Thinking?” Steve asked, distracted by the grey trying to gnaw on his little finger. The white one was failing to scale the dangerous heights of his knee. 

“Food bank? You want to volunteer some time?” 

“In our copious spare time?” Steve sucked on his bottom lip. 

“Might not be able to do it regular-like, but it doesn’t mean that we can’t help.” 

“Oooo, sushi. Beeley’s sushi.” Chin scooped up his lunch on the couch cushion, and plopped down next to Danny. 

“Where’s Kono? We put her noodle soup in the fridge.” Danny pointed in the direction of the kitchenette. 

“She had to rush out,” Chin said vaguely. “Sudden call.” 

“Yeah, why?” Steve sat up straighter, poised jump to his feet to render aid. 

“Pharmacy,” Chin said.

“What? Is it a case--” 

“Leave it, Babe.” Danny stretched out and nudged Steve with the tip of his toe. 

“What?” Steve demanded, and then connected the dots. “Oh. Okay.” 

“You were talking about the food bank?” Chin queried as he sat next to Danny. 

“Captain America wants to cure the World’s ills.” 

“Captain Hawaii, please.” Steve picked up Moku, bringing him up close so that they could nuzzle their noses together. I didn’t mean the Food Bank _per se_ \--” 

“ _Per se_ ,” Danny mocked. 

“Children.” Chin sighed.

“The community on Sand Island, I get it, but it’s been months since the tsunami. That guy as well.”

“What guy?” Danny wiped his hands on a napkin. 

“The guy who was trying to drown the babies.” Steve drew Whitey and Grey in close. 

“Babies? You do realise that they’re kittens.” 

“Yes, Daniel. He wasn’t well… wrapped.” Steve didn’t look at either Chin or Danny. “I don’t know what he was thinking. He was flickering -- the snakes.”

“Snakes,” Chin questioned softly. 

“More like,” Steve pondered, “writhing.”

“What was writhing, Babe? The snakes?” 

“No, his--” Steve worked his jaw, “--his aura.” 

“This is the gentleman that you arrested at the docks?” Chin clarified unnecessarily. “Duke said that after they’d processed him they’d taken him to Queens Medical Centre. He was on the missing persons’ database since the tsunami. His family was understandably worried.”

“And he’s?” Danny rotated his finger by his temple, and dropped his hand at Chin’s flat look. 

“Ill and needs help,” Chin said soberly. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Danny semi-apologised. 

“Oh, Moku,” Steve griped. Clearly holding his hand to contain something, Steve gathered up the kittens with his other hand and stood. 

“Joys of kitty-motherhood,” Danny said not moving an inch.

“Pity that you can’t make kitten diapers,” Chin noted, also not leaving the sofa. 

Steve paused a second, digesting that comment, before continuing to trot off to his office. Danny figured that there would be some diaper experiments in their future. But washing was at the top of his agenda. 

Chin had his iPhone out and was googling furiously. What did they do before the advent of Google, Danny wondered? 

“Believe it or not, kitten diapers exist.” Chin raised an eyebrow. He flicked through webpages. “I figure, no, you don’t really want to put them on a healthy kitten, best that Steve trains them to use the litter box.”

Danny craned his head to look at the screen. Pictures of kittens wearing diapers. The internet was weird. 

“UTIs and rashes,” Chin confirmed. “Babies and diaper rash is a miserable combination.” 

“True.” Danny shared a comradely glance with Chin. George and night-time pull-ups was an ongoing battle and Little K was young enough to still need diapers. 

“Yes, I know. It’s only water,” Steve crooned from the kitten-care corner in his office. 

“Is this a guide thing?” Chin asked. 

“Nah,” Danny judged, as Steve ministered to Moku, cleaning his butt with a damp tissue, “it’s a Steve thing.” 

             ~*~

Danny got to drive, which was all kinds of awesome. However, the reason was because Steve had the kitten carrier on his lap, wrapped up in his arms, as if that would help if they got into a fender bender. The trick was not to get into any accidents. Hence the reason that Danny was driving. 

“Kittens,” Steve opened with. 

Danny eyed him sideways, because he was driving, and any road infractions would be blown out of all proportions.

“Yes, Steven. Very good, they are in fact kittens.” 

“I mean. You know….” 

That was a little uncharacteristically muted for Steve, who normally had the subtlety of the Deathstar blowing up Alderaan. 

“That’s helpful, do you want to use your big boy words and tell me what you’re working your way up to telling me?” 

“We need more kitten formula.” 

Forget driving, Danny looked at him. 

“Hey! Eyes on the road! We have babies on board.” 

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?” Danny demanded. “We could have dropped by the university after the meeting with Denning. Dr. Gayle might not be there now!”

“She will be. I texted her.”

“And she wasn’t there earlier?” Danny asked astutely. 

“No.” Steve’s bottom lip jutted out. “She was lecturing. She can check the kittens over now.” 

“They’re perfectly fine.” Growing like weeds. Steve’s notebook neatly documented their increasing weight ten times a day and Danny could accurately tell the doctor the number of times they pooped and peed -- the little shit bags. 

“I’d be happier if Dr. Gayle could look them over. They did almost drown,” Steve finished softly. 

“Fine,” Danny groused, as he indicated and smoothly slid off the freeway. 

             ~*~

Piikoi Street -- home sweet home. The day had been long and boringly stressful. Despite Danny whining about bombs and high speed chasing, dull days could be strangely worse. 

Steve waited until the car came to a complete stop before clambering out of the vehicle. The kittens had been pronounced as healthy as could be expected, developing well, and that their care had been top notch. Steve had preened. They were off the antibiotics; any possible infections and complications from their hard start in life had been nipped in the bud. 

Vel woofed enthusiastically as Steve entered their home. Her tail wagged so hard her entire body joined in chorus. 

“Hey. Hey.” Hands filled with the boxed kittens, Steve could only sidestep her greeting. 

“Got them.” Danny eeled around Steve and plucked the crate from his guide’s hand. “Say hi to Vel.” 

Steve dropped to his butt and got a lapful of happy puppy. 

Danny set down the kittens on the coffee table. Vel was full of beans. When they knew that they likely had a boring office day, they left her with Mrs. Donavan so she got to spend the day outside and running off energy with her kids. There was nothing destroyed in the living room since she had been dropped off, so she’d had some exercise. Clearly more wouldn’t go amiss. Also the human equivalent of a Border collie in their relationship would benefit from a jog. 

“Babe,” Danny said, “why don’t you and Vel go for a run?” 

Steve lit up like a firecracker, then immediately damped down. “The kittens need to be fed.” 

“I can feed the kittens.” Danny rocked back on one foot, hip shod. “I have been helping you for the last few days.”

“Yeah, I know, but--”

“But nothing. I’ll even weigh them and fill in your notebook.” 

Steve regarded him, expression flat and incomprehensible. 

“What?” Danny shrugged at him. “Go run. Get sweaty. Bring back takeout,”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, and he knew that expression.

“Okay. I’ll start the grill,” Danny relented, “and we’ll have a healthy salad.” 

Steve jumped to his feet with a frankly awful display of energy after a long day at work. Where did he get his energy from? It boggled the mind.

“Come on, Vel.” Steve stripped as he ran to the garage to get his stinky runners and probably to grabs some worn-once shorts and t-shirt from the washing machine. Danny never went in the garage if he could help it -- he was a sentinel; his sense of smell was outstanding. He eyed the trail of clothes on the floor; Steve could pick them up when he returned from his run. 

“So you and me, you strange mutant cat things.” That was sort of unfair, they definitely were looking like kittens now, and not unfinished lumps of fluff that could die at any moment. Dr. Gayle said that they were doing well. 

The white kitten blinked up at him, blue eyes staring. Her ears were still a twitch flopped at the tips. 

“Milk?” Danny offered, running a blunt finger along her fragile feeling spine. She mewed lightly -- a new, more concrete sound than the mewls of distress when they had been smaller (a whole three days earlier). “As Her Majesty commands.” 

Whitey flopped onto her side, following the path of his tickling. She clamped paws with diamond sharp pinpricks on either side of his forefinger and gnawed on his nail. 

“Definitely in need of the feed, as Grace would say. Mock-mommy-milk coming up.” Danny freed his undamaged finger from her grasp. Her talons felt sharp to his senses, yet under his scrutiny he couldn’t even see a scratch. 

Heating the milk was old hat. Each kitten had their own bottle. Before they’d gone into the office, Steve had set the bottles that they had used for the morning feed to sterilise. Danny placed them on the counter. The garage door slammed shut and the echoes of Steve’s running feet ebbed away. Danny figured he had an hour or so.

As the milk warmed, he pulled the steaks from the fridge and set them in the centre of the kitchen table, so that they would be at room temperature when cooked. He could prepare the salad after feeding the ravening horde. Danny ran a quick check on his world. The Donavan house was resoundingly empty. He vaguely remembered that it was Mr. Donavan’s father’s birthday so he guessed that they had gone out en masse to a celebration. Sebastian was home and listening to his awful music. Their neighbour’s taste in music, generally what sounded like tribal-based heartbeat music, could only ever be tuned out. Luckily, he was a sentinel with superb control. 

Moku mewed sadly. A definite, disconsolate mew of abject abandonment and hurt. 

“Geez.” Danny trotted quickly back into the living room. The box wasn’t toppled onto the floor. Safe and secure it sat on the middle of the coffee table. He peered over the edge. “You okay?”

Moku sat in the centre of the box wailing, wailing, wailing his distress. The sound reverberated through Danny’s nerves like a chainsaw. 

“What’s the matter?” Danny demanded. “I get that you’re hungry. You’re always hungry. I’m warming the milk.” 

Moku blinked up at him. The white kitten matched his wail. The grey observed his sibs for a moment before joining in the chorus. Danny’s teeth vibrated in sympathy. Tutting under his breath, Danny scooped up the box and dropped onto his spot on the sofa in one smooth move. 

“What’s the matter?” He picked up the black kitten, turning him over in his hands. Moku continued to mew. The white one mewed in tandem. “What are you doing? You’ll wake the dead—Oh for!” 

He held Moku up so that they could see each other eye to eye. 

“That’s your ‘I want Mommy Steve’ cry isn’t it?” Danny grinned. “Hah. Hilarious. You’ve got me, Babe.”

Danny picked up the toothbrush that they used in lieu of licking the kittens with a raspy tongue, which neither Danny nor Steve possessed, and set to grooming the miserable, abandoned bag of mewing. 

“You know, I do get it. You’re all ridiculously cute. But we’re a busy pair of guys with two kids, a dog, a job which is twenty four-seven, and three kittens might tip us over into insanity.” He brushed against the grain, fluffing up Moku. Danny heaved out a sigh. “Poor thing.” 

Danny shared the love, brushing the white kitten along her back. 

“I’m kind of surprised that Steve hasn’t started a plan of attack to wear me down so that we keep you guys.” 

The grey rolled clumsily onto his back so Danny could get to his tummy with the brush. 

“Or maybe he thinks that he can’t have you?” 

A hiss, which wasn’t the kittens, scraped along his ear drums. The caramel scent of scorching milk tickled his nostrils. 

Oh damn, the milk!

             ~*~

Danny smelled Steve before he heard him. He sat his spatula down on the side table by the barbeque. Bizarrely, it was rank. Steve’s runners were relegated to the garage for good reasons, but the miasma approaching was stupefying. 

“Geez.” Danny was already pointing at the outdoor shower as Steve and Vel barrelled around the side of the house, a sweaty, smelly pair of hairy fiends. 

“Hi, Danny!” Steve said joyfully. Steve and exercise was a unique combination. 

“What the Hell?” 

“They were muck spraying the fields out by Kalua as we ran by.” Steve grinned.

“The Stench!” Danny juddered. If they didn’t do something about the smell, it was going to contaminate their dinner and the entire house. His gorge rose. 

“Uhm.” Belatedly, Steve realised that Danny’s distress was real. “Vel, come on.” 

Steve bolted down the beach, Vel in pursuit. The daft dog actually liked frolicking in the waves. It was past dusk, and only the lights of the lanai illuminated the white surf. The ocean was black as night beyond the sphere of light. 

Steve whooped as he dove into the water, Velvet in hot pursuit. 

“Are you sure that you really want him?” Danny asked the sleeping kittens, snug on the heated pad in their box. 

He flipped the steaks over on the grill as Steve wrestled with Vel in the shallows. Salt water might do something about the stench. And it was better that he got the majority off away from the house. Steve, finally, came out of the water. He kicked out of his runners and stripped off his t-shirt and shorts down by the strandline. Naked, he strode up the beach, Vel dancing at his heels. 

“Shameless.” Danny shook his head. Off to his left, he heard a quiet snort of laughter as their next door neighbour spotted Steve through the less dense bushes edging the beach. There was a click of an old door latch closing as Sebastian went inside the Abernathy house. 

“Better?” Steve stretched his arms out wide. 

“Moderately.” Danny gestured with the spatula at the outside shower at the edge of the lanai. 

Steve ducked under the shower, yanking the string pulley. He shuddered under the sheet of water, but didn’t complain. He corralled Vel with his feet as he grabbed the bar of soap balanced on the shower head. 

A rainbow of colour glistened on Steve’s wet skin from the fairy lights strung around the lanai. Danny licked his lips. 

Vel escaped Steve’s grasp, shook herself vigorously, and loped off into the stand of trees that separated their backyard from Sebastian’s. It was pretty warm, so Danny wasn’t worried that she would take a chill. He’d just make sure to grab her with a towel before they settled down for the night. 

Steve came wandering across the lanai, a speculative gleam in his eye. 

“Hmmm?” Danny idly waved his spatula back and forth. “And what’s on your mind, partner?” 

“Am I clean enough?” Steve set his hands on his hips. 

Danny inhaled dramatically, and, thankfully, only got Steve: top-notes of crisp ozone, lemon, salt, and an underlying hint of comforting cinnamon. Threading through that familiarity that was Steve was a warming lushness -- blood-hot and enticing. 

“Oh, it’s like that, is it, Babe?” 

Steve bobbed both eyebrows, and grinned. Another portion of his anatomy bobbed. 

“Hey, Danny.” Steve slid in, all wet and encompassing long limbs. 

Danny turned in his hold, letting Steve dry off on him. 

“You’re the worst person in the world.” Danny stretched up and kissed his goof. “You enjoyed your run, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve chortled against Danny’s lips. 

Danny figured that they were probably going to have well-done steaks. 

             ~*~

The hammock gently swayed back and forth. Danny lay back in Steve’s arms, his butt sitting stickily in Steve’s lap. He was well wrung out. Steve’s orangutan arms were folded over Danny’s chest holding him close. His chin nestled comfortingly on Danny’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” Danny said softly. 

“Hey.” Steve brushed a kiss on Danny’s cheek. 

“Unfortunately, we will have to move, or give the steaks to Vel.” 

Steve -- Danny could tell -- seriously considered letting the steaks char to a crisp. 

“We can’t really eat on the hammock, can we,” Steve said. 

“I’ll get indigestion.” Danny unpeeled from Steve, ignoring the grumbling. “And we still have to physically get up and move to the grill and get the food. We don’t have a slave.” 

Steve rose behind him as if tethered. Looping an arm over Danny’s shoulders he stayed close, and they sort of three-legged-walked to the grill. Danny scratched his balls as he contemplated their dinner. 

“Not really gonna work, is it.” Steve observed in the face of the charred lumps. 

“Nah,” Danny said sadly, as he poked them to the edge of the grill away from the still glowing coals. They had smelled like perfect steaks. 

“Vel will like them after we cut off the burnt edges.” 

“Lucky Vel.” Danny slumped, glum. 

“It’s okay, Danny.” Steve nuzzled a kiss up Danny’s jaw making him shiver. “There’s prawns in the fridge, we can make kebabs.” 

“Steak,” Danny could only say. 

Steve towed him through the dining room-office and around to the kitchen. 

“It will be quick and healthy.” Steve moved to the fridge. 

“Hey.” Danny caught his paw, stopping him. “At least wash your hands first.” 

Steve sniggered, actually sniggered, as he looked down at his groin. “You’re probably right.”

They vied for dominance over the tap, washing their hands together. Steve stole a kiss and then dried his hands on a dish towel. 

“We have hand towels,” Danny pointed out. 

“It’s going in the laundry anyway.” 

Danny grabbed it off him, and used it to wipe his butt. 

Steve leered. 

“Goof.” Danny curled a hand around Steve’s neck and hauled him down for a sloppy kiss. 

Steve bracketed Danny against the sink and kissed hard. Neither of them were getting it up any time soon, but the kiss still curled his toes. 

“Love you,” Steve mumbled, as his lips grazed Danny’s jaw. 

“Love you,” Danny returned. 

“Gonna make you the best kebabs.” Steve’s tummy grumbled in response. “No pineapple.” 

“You better not.” 

Steve released him. Danny admired his toned, bare butt as he squatted down to assess the ingredients in the salad drawer. Deciding to help, Danny unearthed the metal skewers from the cupboard. The kebabs, judging by what Steve tossed on the kitchen island, were going to consist of: fat, juicy prawns; cherry tomatoes; yellow peppers, chunks of red onion, and mushrooms (which Steve wasn’t that fond of and Danny loved). 

“We got any sauces?” Danny pondered. 

Steve scrunched his nose, pondering. “Do we have any peanut butter?” 

“Loads.” The kids liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. A nutritious, delicious and cheap combination. 

Steve tossed a red chilli and a clove of garlic onto the table with the other ingredients. 

“Satay sauce,” Danny decoded. 

“Spicy or not too spicy?” Steve asked. 

“Mmmmm.” Danny waggled his hand from side to side, knowing that Steve would interpret that as ‘mild-moderate, please.’

“Are we really doing this naked?” Danny asked. 

“Why not?” Steve jiggled a little on the spot, and leered again. 

Why not indeed. They were both adults, it was their own home, and no visitors were expected. 

Steve got to play with hot oil, to sauté onions and chilli, while naked. Danny dropped the towel on a stool and sat. He set to work skewering prawns and veggies -- heavy on the prawns -- onto the skewer. 

Danny was sensible. 

             ~*~

In the hammock, spooned together, naked was a good place to be. Sue him, Danny didn’t really like clothes. He wore them because well, that’s what you did in civilised society and he was a civilised being. There was something quite satisfying about being able to wander around in your birthday suit. In New Jersey, being naked wasn’t really practical, but -- Danny would only admit it over hot coals - in tropical Hawaii, he could easily indulge. 

Mostly fabric and textures didn’t bother him, he just liked being skin free. Once in a blue moon, he would happily rip his skin off with his fingernails. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Steve’s words rumbled through Danny, making the hairs on his forearms lift. 

“One of the weirdest sentinel things is when your skin doesn’t fit, you know?” 

“No?” Steve’s arm tightened around Danny. “Like how?” 

“It’s not that it’s tight. It not that it’s loose. It’s not crawling… crawling in a bad way. No, it crawls but fractionally. You can’t measure it -- it’s inside but it is the skin that crawls.” 

“Doesn’t sound… good?” Steve said unsure. 

“It’s not bad. It’s not good. It just is.” Danny turned in Steve’s hold, scraping his jaw across Steve’s nipple. 

“Stop it.” Steve shivered. His nipples were very sensitive. 

“Was that good or bad?”

“Can be either,” Steve said astutely. 

“See?” 

“Pain can be good or bad, but it’s a relief when it stops.” Steve squeezed a little tighter. He sighed. “What are you working up to, Danny?”

Danny craned his head a little more, deliberately drawing his bristly chin over Steve’s nipple, so he could see Steve eye to eye. 

“Tell me what you feel,” Danny ordered. 

Steve pursed his lips. “I don’t get what you mean. You don’t mean just what I’m feeling at the moment. You don’t mean what I’m picking up from the vicinity.”

“How?” 

“Because, I _know_ you.” Steve huffed out a sigh. He wiggled the fingers of his hand, the one that wasn’t scooped around Danny’s shoulder, at his temple. “It’s not guiding stuff.” 

“And if you use your abilities?” 

“Danny,” Steve said quellingly. 

“We are brilliant at avoiding things.” Danny sat up, making the hammock swing alarmingly, but Steve had constructed it sturdily. They could probably fit Velvet and the box of kittens along with them since Steve had made the hammock so wide. 

“I’m not avoiding anything.” Steve dabbled his fingers up Danny’s torso, and spreading his fingers, raked them through his chest hair. 

_Meep_. Moku poked his head over the edge of the box sitting on the table. _Meep. Mom? Mom?_

“Hey, they’re getting better at walking around.” Steve grinned at his kittens. “They develop so fast. You blink and there’s another milestone.”

Hmmmm, Danny growled. He untangled himself from Steve’s grip. 

“Where are you going?” Steve protested. 

“Not far.” Four steps, actually. Danny scooped up the kitten box and returned to the hammock. He planted the box on Steve’s lap and clambered back into position. 

“Hi, babies.” Steve cradled Moku in his large hands. The kitten meowed rapidly, telling Steve some kind of involved story. He was very intense. Birds of a feather -- cats of fluff -- stick together.

“Let me have Diamond.” Danny plucked the white kitten from the box. The grey rocked back on his heels, and protested loudly at being abandoned. 

“Diamond?” 

“Yeah.” Danny held the girl up. She felt as light as cotton wool. “Diamond sharp claws. And look at these blue eyes, like blue diamonds.” 

“Or Sapphires.” 

“I prefer Diamond. Diamonds are precious.” 

“And what about the grey?” Steve proffered said fluffy grey kitten to Danny. 

He was a cutie -- a smoky grey colour that if you looked at in the right light had an almost violet tint -- at least to Danny. The three kittens, white, grey and black, were like when the ink cartridge on your printer slowly ran out. Identical apart from the differences in their fur. 

“Gandalf?” Danny offered. “Gandalf the Grey?” 

Steve stared. “Really?” 

Danny shrugged. The name wasn’t that imaginative, but heh, Grace would be over the moon. Steve was also a not-so-closet geek. 

“Gandalf?” Steve turned the name over on his tongue. “Why not? Moku, Diamond and Gandalf. Different.” 

“We’ve named them now,” Danny said seriously. 

“Yes.” 

“There’s a rule.” Danny set both kittens on his chest. They ecstatically kneaded his hair with pin-point sharp claws. He dialled down his sense of touch until they only tickled him. If they tried to nurse he was putting them back in the box.

“A rule?” 

“If you name them you have to keep them.” 

Steve considered that, before saying, “You’re not a cat person.” 

“True.” Danny stroked his fingertip along Gandalf’s back as he rooted. “But you are.”

Steve bit his bottom lip. 

“I don’t get it. You’re normally so gung-ho,” Danny said. “You go after what you want. Yeah, we’ve been looking after the kittens, but you’ve not even started wearing me down. It isn’t even a camel’s nose sort of thing.” 

“Camel’s nose?” Steve tucked Moku into the crook of his neck, where he meeped ecstatically. 

“You know, get them in through the front door, and make them at home. Tell me that we need to look after them. Responsible. Steadfast. But you haven’t.” 

“We’ve got Gracie, George, and we’ve got Vel. We’ve got a sprawling ‘ohana. We’ve got full time jobs, dangerous jobs. We have Sentinel Central focused on us. This--” Steve flung his hand out encompassing the cosy lanai and their entire life, “--could be taken from us in an instant.” 

“Steve.” Careful of the kittens, Danny shifted around. “You’ve fought your entire life for this. When you were serving, you were working to protect this kind of life. This is pretty new to you. One moment, you’re in the Navy doing all kinds of dangerous and wacked out stuff, then you’re dumped into the civilian life. You -- I don’t know how to phrase it -- inherited my kids, you definitely inherited this house. You grabbed Chin on the spur of the moment, and gave him absolution. You picked up Kono because her cousin recommended her. My dad bought you Vel.”

“Dannnny,” Steve whined. 

“You’re dedicated to looking after your ‘ohana. You’ll pick up any stray you find -- and that includes me.”

Steve laughed inadvertently. 

“You never asked me if I wanted to join you on your insane mission,” Danny said. “You dragged me along.”

“I did ask you!” Steve protested. 

“Eventually, sort of, but not really.” 

“You joined 5O,” Steve pointed out. 

“Yes, I did. But how long did it take you to admit to yourself that you had your ‘ohana?”

“Oh, pot, kettle, black! I can never get you to admit you love Hawaii -- that this is your life.”

“We’re not talking about me,” Danny said just a little weakly. 

“What do you want me to do, Danny, ‘cos I admit, I’m getting confused.” 

“I want you to tell me that you want to keep Moku and Diamond and Gandalf for purely selfish reasons. Not because they need protecting. Not because there’s no one else to look after them. Not because George thinks that they’re better than his toy rabbit. Not because you think that they’re your responsibility. But because you, Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett, want them.”

“I want them,” Steve rapped out and closed his mouth tightly on the words. 

“Okay, we’ll make it happen.” Danny nodded decisively. “Mrs. Donavan and her kids look after Vel, when she’s not coming into the office. Cats are much more independent.”

“Little ninjas.” 

“What? Never mind. Do you get it, though?” He studied Steve. “Babe?” 

“No,” Steve said, prodded into honesty. 

“Well, that’s okay,” Danny said sagely. He tapped Steve’s forehead right between his eyes. “You might not get it here--”

“Danny,” 

“But you get it here.” He patted Steve’s chest, over his beating heart. 

“Explain it to me.” Steve set his hand over Danny’s.

“It’s about smelling the roses.”

“You talk utter nonsense,” Steve said fondly. Moku meowed in agreement. 

“We made a decision after the tsunami to stay on O’ahu,” Danny said, “to not grab everyone and run to the Free States of Scandinavia. We’re standing our ground. Demonstrating that a sentinel and guide can be partners. Rational.”

“What’s that gotta do with kittens?” Steve asked, with an edge of plaintive. 

“Stop interrupting.” Danny scraped his thumbnail over Steve’s nipple. He shivered. “The kittens are a metaphor for you choosing to set down roots instead of accepting… rolling with the blows and always having to come up fighting.”

Steve leaned into Danny’s space and kissed him lightly on the lips. 

“I think you’re over thinking,” Steve said fondly, “but you spend a lot of time thinking, Detective Freud.” 

“Dr. Freud, please.” 

“I’m not entirely sure that your medical credentials are kosher.” 

“I am an intelligent, trained detective. I observe things and I make informed inferences.”

“Did you read that on a card?” 

“At least I can read.” Danny dug his finger into Steve’s side, tickling. 

**The end**


End file.
